


hot knife

by bikenesmith



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: (hardly), Character Study, Erik Has Feelings, Erik-centric, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, in any fic i write that charles tag is pretty much necessary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 00:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13535664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bikenesmith/pseuds/bikenesmith
Summary: when he beams at erik, excitement clear in his face, erik feels a spark of fear, a spark of exhilaration, and one more spark of something unidentifiable.[ a slightly abstract, pieced-together-from-random-moments road trip fic. ]





	hot knife

**Author's Note:**

> unbelievable that it's nearly 3 years of cherik involvement and this is the first time i post a fic but that's also, like, very believable for me  
> i'm extremely neurotic about fics/writing in general and this is the product of like a year or so of nitpicking and mulling over and abandonment. the fact that its in lowercase is basically an incriminating timestamp  
> hopefully throwing this out into the world will help me post more fic...thank you to my darling charles for reading over this some months ago

the car window glass muffles the sound of conversation in the front yards of the cia facility. erik’s already seated, gazing straight ahead, index finger tapping on the steering wheel. he glances at himself in the backview - hair swept back, sunglasses on, expressionless - and then back to the windshield. there’s a flurry of laughter - charles’ laugh, a sound he’s begun to recognize, and one higher giggle, which must be his sister.

he feels a little annoyance - they’re laughing and carrying on while shaw and his submarine get farther and farther away - but there’s a quality to it that he admits he finds captivating. the conversation and light banter charles and his sister exchange reminds erik of familial, close bonds he has not personally experienced or been privy to since he was a child. it’s - interesting to see at this point. it’s one of the many parts of them - charles, specifically - that reminds erik of how different they are. charles seems, almost, to be on another planet half the time.

but charles, strange as he is, and those others, unknown as they are, are the only people who are like erik and, therefore, the only people who could stand a chance against shaw. they have cerebro. a way to find more of them. build an army. erik would rather not have the government involved, but it is a necessary sacrifice. erik would rather not be involved with charles - with his insistence that he needs friends, that he _understands_ erik - but that is a necessary sacrifice as well. 

despite erik’s inhibitions, he _is_ drawn to charles. he’s interesting, intelligent, if on the naive side. he leans in when he speaks to erik, gazes at him in an attentive way that erik is unused to. he doesn’t look through erik, either, like the civilians of various towns he had passed through, disguised as a faceless worker or some other lie.

with charles, he is unsure. not of his own choosing, he’d bared parts of himself to charles, and charles seems to be interested in staying around him despite that.

it’s a new feeling, a terrifying feeling. 

charles says goodbye to his sister, hugging her tightly for a moment, smoothing down her hair, before opening the door to slide in beside erik. when he beams at erik, excitement clear in his face, erik feels a spark of fear, a spark of exhilaration, and one more spark of something unidentifiable.

 

* * *

 

erik's well used to the practice of this, driving from place to place and sleeping in motels every night, but in america - it's different. the highways stretch on for years, framed by dark craggy rocks and endless woodlife, or flat, cakey red desert. the towns and motels are deathly quiet (homely, charles says) and completely alien. erik feels out of place anywhere, but especially here.

and charles - familiar with america, but not familiar with its "backroads" as he calls them - is enamored with the whole thing, at least on the surface, when the diner food isn't that awful, and the motel doesn't have cockroaches. which is not often, so far.

charles seems to think erik doesn't know, but it’s apparent to erik that the cia isn't giving them that much money for the trip, and that charles is paying for several expenses personally. charles’ financial situation was apparent to erik not long after meeting him (his clothes, the way he acted, his concern and lack of concern for different things).

erik wants to pitch in, not just to assuage the guilt he feels for freeloading, but to break a facade. a facade of many, the ones erik has notices charles raises and drops as quickly as he picks them up. a rapidly oscillating display of nonchalance, every other one diamond or flimsy fiberglass.

erik watches this display now, as charles gets them lost again.

or not, as charles is insisting.

"we missed our exit," erik says. the car's parked on the side of the road, and he's staring out the windshield, jaw set. it's the fourth time he's said this in the past hour.

"erik," charles says, exasperated, as if talking to a child. "i know, for certain, that we have twenty more minutes before we reach our exit."

erik grinds his teeth. "we missed it," he insists. cars fly past them on the highway, going right towards their destination, because they do not have stubborn passengers who can't read maps. "this is not granite." 

charles buries his head in the map again. "why anyone would call a town granite is beyond me.....look, just let me...." he trails off, staring at the map, lost in thought. erik turns his head, realizes charles is holding the map upside down, and loses his temper.

"charles, this is ridiculous, damn it, i'm turning around."

charles lowers the map, head cocked and eyebrows lowering. "since when did you become the leader of this trip?"

"when you became a horrible navigator," erik retorts, putting the keys in the ignition.

"so i'm horrible now," charles scoffs.

"horrible navigator," erik corrects, turning to look out the rear windshield. "don't twist my words."

"same difference," charles mutters, but he doesn't bite, and turns to look out the window, chin resting in his hands. erik can tell he's stung, and almost wants to apologize. there's _something_ in erik that despises the idea of charles being any kind of unhappy, but he seems to be naturally inclined to make charles unhappy - arguing, debating, being stubborn. 

they pull into the correct exit ten minutes later; charles' face is slightly pink and erik can't bring himself to gloat.

 

* * *

 

“what do you think of this?”

erik drags his gaze from the nondescript wall to his left to focus on what charles is holding in his hands. he almost squints when he sees it - it’s a very brightly colored, very ugly sweater.

“er,” erik says.

charles raises his eyebrows.

“it’s interesting,” erik offers.

charles lets out an exasperated sigh and throws the sweater back onto the rack carelessly. “erik, that’s what you’ve said about _all_ of the things i’ve shown you.” he scans their immediate surroundings, hands on his hips. “i thought you wanted to get out of here _quickly_.”

erik _does_ really, though the urgency of that want had lessened once they’d gotten into the quieter gift shop and out of the bustle of the mall. still, they were on a schedule. erik wanted to get out of portland before six so they wouldn’t have to drive through the night before their next meeting with a mutant. lucky for him, charles had just remembered the promise he’d made to raven to bring her back something nice. erik had refused to bend to charles’ will and turn into any strip malls they happened to see on the way. of course, he had ended up doing just that.

erik shrugs. “i never said you shouldn’t get it for her.”

“you said it was - “ charles deepens his voice, lowers his brows menacingly. “ _interesting_ . that’s _exactly_ what you meant.”

erik stifles the laugh that’s threatening to rise up his throat and inclines his head. “if that’s what you choose to believe, charles.”

“you could help, you know,” charles grumbles. 

erik glances behind him, the one part of their surroundings charles hasn’t decimated looking for an acceptable souvenir, and picks up the first thing that catches his eye.

“snow globe?” charles says, staring at it. “they have - erik, move - “

erik steps back and raises both eyebrows when charles lets out a loud groan.

“raven _loves_ snow globes,” charles mutters. “and you were covering them the _whole time_ .”

 

* * *

 

"you're human, you know."

erik looks at charles over the rim of his wineglass. it's half-full of cheap wine, something charles bought at the convenience store around the corner to celebrate another recruitment success. it's not great, but it's not bad, and erik's had enough of it that everything is soft and pleasantly buzzing. charles, on the other hand, is more than halfway to completely inebriated. he’s curled up in an armchair, caressing his near-empty wine bottle. his hair’s messy, tousled in just the right way so that it’s perfectly endearing, and he’d stripped off his sweater at some point, leaving him in an untucked white button-up. the first few buttons are undone; erik’s almost too intoxicated to stop himself from staring at the triangle of soft skin underneath charles’ neck that’s peeking out between the fabric.

erik remembers something in the back of his mind; raven, chatting to him a few days ago, (when hank and charles were holed up in cerebro doing what raven calls “boring science stuff”) laughing and telling him _not_ to let charles have wine, _he’s the tipsiest drunk, honestly_ -

“i thought this whole thing was making a point of the fact that i - _we_ \- aren’t humans,” erik responds after a moment of contemplation.

“actually,” charles says, slurring together his vowels. “we’re _human_ mutants, really, we’re a human _species_.” he cocks his head back, gazing at erik. “but that’s not what i meant. a human being, i mean. a person.”

erik says nothing, not meeting charles’ eyes.

“you think of yourself as something else. something monstrous. and you’re not, erik - “ charles twists himself so he’s almost laying on his stomach, “you’re not. you’re…” charles trails off, his eyes move to the ceiling as he thinks. erik chances a glance over, watches charles’ hand drop down, the bottle scraping the rug.

“you’re like me, i suppose,” charles finishes.

erik laughs. there’s no humor in it, it’s just - ridiculous. he’s nothing like charles. he’s nothing like him and his way of speaking and politeness, his naivete. his belief that there’s good in the worst. “no, i’m not.”

charles eyes move quickly from the ceiling to meet erik’s gaze. “you are,” charles insists. he drops the bottle and lays fully on his stomach, his legs sticking up over the armrest comically. “or maybe - it’s that - we’re different, but - it fits, you see.” charles waves his hand about, and nods to himself, as if the gesture is enough to make erik understand.

“but i don’t see, charles.”

charles makes a noise in the back of his throat. “we’re very different people. but - it’s good. we go together. halves of a whole.” the tips of erik’s ears prickle. “that’s not - that's not what i’m getting at though. i mean we are both _people_. despite our...abilities. our pasts.” charles is gesturing again - more like flapping his hands around carelessly. the movement makes erik’s head spin, and he closes his eyes.

“you’re drunk, charles.”

charles is silent for a moment, and erik hears the armchair creak - he’s getting up, or maybe just moving - “perhaps. but so are you.” erik tracks his movements, the swing of his wristwatch. the metal of his belt buckle.

“not nearly as much as you.”

a short silence. then, his voice, much much closer than before, and erik can feel his breath on his skin: “i mean what i say, regardless.”

erik opens his eyes.

 

* * *

 

erik wakes - more like gurgles to life - in the late morning, and lies there in bed for a moment, eyes feeling nearly gummed shut. the first thing he notices is his throat, dry and sticking, and the next is his mouth. dry, yet full of saliva, his gums tingling with a kind of ticklish pleasant-pain that has him wanting to brush his teeth til he bleeds. erik tastes vomit.

behind him, charles sleeps on, his arms wrapped loosely about erik's waist. erik's first instinct is to throw him off, his second to get out of bed - but one, he doesn't want to wake up charles and subject him to the hell of post-drinking consciousness (and he'd be lying if he said charles' soft embrace was unwelcome) and two, since he feels as if every part of his body weighs a thousand pounds, the thought of moving isn’t particularly attractive.

erik lies there for what feels like hours, until a maid knocks on the door - the loudest noise in the world - and says "housekeeping" - and she's shouting it down a megaphone - and erik's forcibly made aware of the hangover headache he's been deftly ignoring -

abruptlyl, the knocking is gone and the maid stops mid-sentence. erik realizes charles' breathing has changed.

he tries to say something, but all that comes out is a strangled, pathetic noise, and charles rubs something - feels like the flat of a hand - against erik's back and sends him a sleepy, pale yellow _good morning_. charles' hand moves up again, and his ring finger moves out to trace the ridged indentations of a surgery scar. erik shivers, something tight and painful fluttering in his chest, and thinks about more of these mornings, without the hangover, spent with charles, always being sure of his morning breath on the back of his neck and flaxen greetings and -

erik's acutely aware of the danger and fragility of it all, even now. he's aware of how fast this has happened, the threat of shaw, the threat of charles’ pacifism, the threat of himself, and this, and how all four components can not mix, can not add together to create a positive outcome.

but charles has planted something in him that bears a semblance to hope, that is - possibly lost naivete or pure stupidity, but either way, erik feels he can see this through. he can do _it_ , he can make charles see _that_ and they can have _this_.

charles breathes out, finger dragging away from the scar as his arms slip around erik's chest. "you're mind's a mess, my friend." he hums, so quietly it's only little more than a vibration. "what are you thinking?"

erik swallows, his throat sticks.

"just a headache, charles."

 

* * *

 

erik leans against the rail of the balcony, gazing down at the hotel pool below. the pool’s taken on a green tint, and erik can see the thin film floating on the surface from the rails. it’s a better hotel than usual, though, and the fact that it even has a pool (and room balconies for that matter) sets it apart from the other places they’d been staying at.

erik’s taken from his thoughts when charles slides back the glass door behind him. he’d been on the phone with moira for some minutes now, and erik had stepped out for some air. charles looks slightly nervous, and has the hotel key in his hands, lightly toying with it.

“what?” erik asks, raising his eyebrows.

“well - just been on the phone with moira.” charles blurts after a second. “she’s on hold at the moment, actually,” charles looks off into the distance, past erik, and squints in the sunlight. “our charges are settling in nicely. chaps up top are - not pleased, but. allowing. best to be prepared for shaw.”

erik nods and turns to fully face him. “and?”

charles looks at him hurriedly and then glances away. “well, the chaps up top are..allowing enough to be so kind to - offer us a plane ride back.”

erik sits up. a plane ride. that means -

“no very long car rides. no me getting us very lost,” charles finishes, nodding. “no bad motels.” he bites his lip and runs a hand through his hair. “i know it’s been - stressful - but, i did kind of enjoy it. and well, it’s nice, just us. together. this….you know.” he looks at his feet. “so, i was wondering, if you’d be so obliged to maybe - just - “

charles looks increasingly harried. he looks determinedly at the floor, and fiddles with the hotel key more. erik thinks he sees redness spreading on the bridge of charles’ nose. he can feel his own face heating up, his chest suddenly full of prickling anxiety and anticipation, and is grateful for the fact that blush doesn’t show up on _his_ skin.

charles is offering him something. he’s offering erik more time. time that will be used in the same way that it has been used this trip. talking, arguing, driving, eating, and erik thinks of all those things for a moment and just _wants_ . it’s a juvenile want, something that he stretches his arms out for like he is a child grasping at candy. logically, he knows it’s a bad idea. logically, he knows that getting back to base and back on track - back on _shaw_ \- is the best course of action.

and rather _ill_ ogically, erik inclines his head and says “i’d like that,” - and he hasn’t properly thought about it, hasn’t properly dissected it - “i mean - it’s fine. good, even. we can see some things we missed before.”

erik shifts, and watches charles’ facial expression morph from surprise to delight, and then into something between the two.

“alright,” charles says, and he’s just grinning at erik for a moment, and erik feels the corner of his mouth twitch up.

“moira,” erik reminds him, after a moment.

“ah! yes.” charles nearly runs into the sliding glass getting back into the room, and erik stifles his laughter with a hand. charles huffs at him, and there’s a short silence before erik hears a muffled “moira? i’m back.”

erik’s thoughts are still rioting against him - because this - leaping into this - might be the worst decision he’s made in a while. but there, standing in the sun, with charles and his infectious joy nearby, erik can’t bring himself to worry.


End file.
